Beirut looks for love with blind dating

On Friday evening, Riwaq Beirut glowed with its usual warm buzz, the black exterior, the poster-covered walls, the easy Gen Z energy, but downstairs, something entirely new took shape. Picture this: people walking in nervous, excited, curious. Phones left at the door. Faces unseen. Everything starting with a voice.

Marketed as Lebanon’s first-ever speed blind dating night, the idea came from Adam, a 20-year-old hospitality student, entrepreneur and founder of The Blind Spark, who speaks about love with a sincerity most people tend to hide.

He told The Beiruter that the concept came after a difficult breakup. “I learned how to enjoy being single,” he says, laughing at the irony. “And I thought, why wouldn’t I help others find something that I would love to find someday?” It’s a soft, determined kind of Gen Z optimism, and it sits at the heart of The Blind Spark.

Introducing The Blind Spark

Adam talks fast, ideas tumbling out, but it becomes clear he observes people more than he speaks about himself. “I’m a people watcher,” he says with a shrug. “I love seeing what people are missing and what I can cater to them.”

For him, dating in Lebanon had become predictable: small circles, familiar faces, and dating apps everyone scrolls through without intention. “Digital love kills a bit of the spark of meeting someone new,” he says. “I’m a bit old-fashioned in that sense.”

So, he built an event that flips everything: no photos, no profiles, no visual cues. Just curiosity, conversation, and a table between two strangers.

Why Riwaq?

When asked why he chose Riwaq, Adam didn’t hesitate. “Riwaq is such a hidden gem,” he explains. “It captures all types of people, different ages, backgrounds, foreigners, Lebanese, vegans … everyone.”

He liked that the space feels open rather than intimidating. “There’s a real will to socialize there,” he says. He pitched the idea to owner Ghayat, who immediately said yes. Comfort became their shared priority.

Adam becomes serious when he talks about safety. “We wanted very strict measures,” he says, “so people feel comfortable, no harassment, no pressure, no weirdness.”

He didn’t want a free-for-all flirting night. He wanted boundaries. People were warned that aggressive comments, inappropriate behavior or pushing for contact details would lead to immediate removal. Not as a threat, but as a guarantee that people could relax.

How the night actually works

To ease nerves, guests filled out questionnaires describing themselves and what they hoped for, not physically, but emotionally and socially. It reassured them that they were walking into something thoughtful, not random.

Adam smiled when he described the rounds: guests sit at assigned tables, a host guides the flow, and each encounter lasts 30 minutes. “You’re not stuck with one date,” he joked. “If the romance isn’t there, you still have thirty minutes to build a new friendship.”

He believes this deeply. “Not everyone will find their soulmate,” he repeats. “But if you don’t leave with a partner, you leave with a new friend.” It’s the spirit of the night, light, hopeful, pressure-free.

Although the poster doesn’t state it outright, the event is inclusive. Adam didn’t want to turn the night into a political statement; he simply wanted people to show up as themselves. “We don’t want to label it,” he explains. “But everyone deserves a shot at love. It’s a call for moving forward as a society, not pushing any agenda, just normalizing that people are different and coexist.”

Gen Z wants in

If anyone wondered whether Beirut was ready for this, the sign-up list answered that question. The debut event sold out in two days. “People are begging for spots,” Adam said, still a little shocked. The list stayed capped, but he’s already planning versions for older age groups.

His confidence isn’t hype-driven. He genuinely thinks these events can shift how people meet. “Meeting someone without knowing anything about them,” he stated, “and then feeling that instant spark… that only happens in real life.”

He hopes The Blind Spark nudges people back toward that discovery without filters.

The night didn’t end when the dates ended. Upstairs, the bar turned into an open space where participants, friends, and supporters mingled under DJ sets by Luna and MAC. It was the kind of informal Beirut after-hours where someone might finally say, “Hey, nice talking to you downstairs.”

Adam even imagines reunions. “If people stay together, they get to come back to where it all started,” he said, joking about the Love is Blind Netflix show reunions.

Whether someone walks away with a future partner, a funny story, or just a surprisingly genuine conversation, the hope is simple: let Beirut believe in connection again.

“I’m hopeful,” Adam said. “When people tell me they found someone, even through a dating app, it gives me hope. I’d love to see that happen here.”